Chapter 2

“Log seven hundred and sixty-five. The current date is February fifth of twenty-thirty-seven. We’re getting closer to finalizing the project each and every day. I can’t express how proud I am for our team making such remarkable progress, but something is…off.

“Everyone in the facility has been relatively quiet these last couple of weeks. This place has lost its energy all of a sudden. I haven’t talked to anyone besides Ellie in the past couple of weeks. Maybe even a month.

“ I’m not sure what’s going on. Maybe everything is okay, and I’m not thinking straight. Besides, I’ve been glued to my work for so long and haven’t taken time off to just have some small talk with those around me. It’s an old habit of mine. I get so invested in my work that I completely forget there’s an outside world.

“One time, back when I was still home, I stayed in my office for a whole week! I'm not exaggerating when I say I slept, ate, and worked in the same old chair for seven days. Brian had to carry me to bed a couple of nights and constantly reminded me to shower. He even called me ‘coffee butt’ a couple of months afterward because I spilled coffee on my chair, which then stained my pants. I’m not sure if I ever got that stain out of those old jeans or if I threw them away altogether. It’s incredible how quickly coffee can stain, even if you try to wash it immediately!

“Coffee butt. What a silly nickname, but I still love it. I wouldn’t be surprised if Brian still calls me that when I come home. Come to think of it, I haven’t talked to him for a while! Actually… I haven’t talked to anyone in a long time.

“I’m the one acting absurd; at least that’s what Ellie’s told me. She’s always telling me I worry too much, which I don’t doubt. Especially this last year, a lot of people left the project.

“Our team of five researchers is down to three, and our twenty candidates are now down to thirteen. They gave us such a large place because we thought the project would grow as we got closer to successful tests, but I don’t see that happening in the near future. I’m not sure why everyone is leaving; but then again, I haven’t been paying attention to anything except my work. If anybody knew of anything unusual going on, it would be Ellie. She’s in charge of contacting our supervisors and keeping everything in check. Every day when I pass her I ask if everything is alright, and she keeps reassuring me that everything is ok. I do trust her. I try to, at least. But then again, I do not believe it’s just my mind playing tricks on me.

“Today, Imelda was brought in. She’s part of our most promising group of subjects by far, the 09 series. We barely touch her chip except if we genuinely know something will work or at least bring us a step closer. If only we had more people in this series to be able to complete it.

“The other reason why we barely work with her is because she’s a chatterbox! But for some reason, she was rather quiet today. I asked Imelda how her day was, which is usually a horrible idea. She could talk to you for hours about a rat that took her pizza, and all she had to say was ‘fine.’ Every time I tried to start a conversation, she would either give me a one-word answer or just not respond at all. She seemed rather anxious about something, and she’s not the first either. This is happening to everyone. I can’t explain it, but everyone is acting rather odd.

“We’re also beginning to run low on supplies, but Ellie is refusing to go out. She says we have enough until next year, but I highly doubt that. I don’t know what’s going on, but this doesn't feel right. Everything is probably fine; I’m just worried about this project failing. Maybe Imelda had a bad day. Yes, that would explain it. Until the next log, Dr. Lilywise signing out.”

I pull myself off the bed, my sweaty thighs keeping their grip on the mattress. My feet drag behind me as I dreadfully follow Malva out the door. She tightly grabs the zip ties on my hands, yanking me closer to her.

Walking with Malva has always been a game of hot and cold. Walk too close, and she gets annoyed. Walk too far, and she yanks me so hard that I almost fall flat on my face.

When she lets me walk, which is a rarity, she usually allows me to walk somewhat independently; but sometimes she gets anxious and feels the need to hold onto the zip tie like a leash. I hate when she has a grip on me with those disgusting hands. Her long nails remain chipped from decay, with the leftovers of purple nail polish holding on for dear life.

I remember one time when she walked me across the lab, Malva randomly grabbed ahold of the zip tie. I didn’t think much of it until we turned the corner, and she opened the door to the testing room. Before I knew it, I was locked in the chair once again. If it weren’t for her already having a hold on me, I maybe could have been able to put up a fight. Then again, what would be the point? Now, when she grabs me, I know she’s taking me somewhere where she’s going to torture me half to death.

As we walk through the short hall, I begin to look into the windows of the other inmates. I’ve never talked to any of them. Now that I think about it, I barely even know who’s here or who’s still alive. It's probably for the best; you never know who’s going to disappear or die tomorrow. I never lost someone to this place, but I’ve witnessed others who have.

About five days after I got here, a man tried to escape Malva’s grip. It seemed like he was looking for someone, as he kept calling out the same name, “Annie.” His calls caught my attention, and I ran towards the window in hopes that maybe he could help. Just as he ran by my window, a gunshot rang out through the halls. My mind didn’t even register the image of a bullet going through the man’s head, but the way his blood sprayed on my window is an image burned into my vision. In that moment my breath caught in my throat as my mind tried to wrap itself around what had happened. A part of me didn’t want to believe that the man died before my eyes before I even knew what he looked like alive. Time was nonexistent in those mere seconds after his death. It felt like a nightmare I was waiting to wake from, and the reality of what had happened struck me like a bat to the back of my head. I heard that man’s body hit the ground like a lump of meat, his pool of blood seeping under the door into my cell. A shriek rang out from the other side of the aisle, a girl screaming “Dallas!”

Malva slowly made her way to the body, I didn’t dare look her way in the hope of avoiding potential eye contact with her. The puddle stopped growing as Malva dragged the body off. At that moment something clicked in my mind, there are only two smart moves to make in a place like this: shut your mouth and survive on your own.

If I ever did become buddies with anyone, I know it would lead me to make some stupid mistakes. You end up sharing your food or fighting to keep your friend alive. That’s why you hear so many stories of people trying to be heroes and dying while saving others; they are dumb enough to care for another life more than themselves in these sorts of situations. Maybe if I knew someone here before I got kidnapped, I would attempt to have friends. But at the same time, I have enough on my plate trying to take care of myself. I don’t need to be on the lookout for anyone else.

Then again, I’ve never truly felt alone in this place. Even when I’m sitting by myself in my cell or when Malva drags me to tests, I’ve always felt a presence near me. A pair of eyes that stare at me from an angle I can’t see. Something in the back of my mind reminds me that the pain I’ve endured was not only my own. I don’t know what that means, but somehow it makes sense. There’s a constant feeling like someone is just around the corner, watching me, waiting for a moment to interrupt my destiny. I wish it were true. Even though it’s easier to survive on my own, it leaves me hopeless. As selfish as it is, I’m living for myself; it’s exhausting to live for a person who is waiting to die.

I continue to look into the cells, seeing that most people are about my age. They’re around their early to mid-twenties, and I don’t recognize any of their faces. However, in one cell sits a young girl, not any older than twelve or thirteen. Her eyes are sunken in, with large black bags underneath them. Her scrawny legs are well hidden underneath a long, light pink skirt, and what must have been a flowing, elegant little white blouse with pink polka dots was sliced down into a tank top out of a desperate attempt to not pass out from the scorching heat. The tearing of her thin shirt caused the stitching under her arm to become undone, leaving a gaping hole that extended to at least the middle of her petite torso. Her long and untrimmed hair slouches down to her back. The black coils of her natural hair intertwined with each other throughout the ball, and someone had split the beautiful tight rings of her hair apart, making it frizzy enough to be considered a mane. Her young skin dried up from the blazing summer heat and cracked into significant cuts on her hands, begging for some moisture. The ash from her dry skin covered her joints, creating white patches. Looking down at her hands, I notice that they are both bare. Despite scanning for a similar numbering to mine, no scars or tattoos can be found. For a brief moment, her large eyes meet mine through the door.

My feet grow heavy as my pace grows slower. In her eyes lay something that I haven’t seen in a while. What is it? Something soft, and warm. Peace? No something beyond that, what is it? An emotion that I can't put my finger on. Is it a sort of fear? It doesn't look like she knows what she should be fearing. The possibility of looking death in the eyes may not have crossed her mind. Of course not, she’s too young to understand where she is. Is she too naive? No, that’s not the right word either. It’s soft, almost pure in a sense. I can tell she just finished crying. Her eyes are still puffy and red, but slowly drying out from the blazing hot cell. Some tears are still fresh on her face, slowly dripping their way down. She trembles back and forth, grabbing her knees to comfort herself. She’s obviously out of place. They couldn’t have meant to take her, right? I can’t find the word I’m looking for, even though it’s at the tip of my tongue. Cute? No. Childish? I just can't put my finger on it. My feet slow to a crawl as my eyes dig deeper into hers.

My gut begins to turn and twist. A sudden thought deeply rooted in the back of my mind begins to take over.

“I can’t do this anymore, this has gone too far. Someone needs to save her. I can’t let her die.”

What? No, I’m not putting my life on the line for someone’s kid.

“But she’s just a kid. People are going to continue dying here, and I can’t let her be one of them.”

She is just a kid. And yes, she doesn't deserve to die or get tortured like the rest of us, but I’m not sure I can help with that. She’s someone else’s problem.

“But I can do something. I can finally pick myself back up and fight once more.”

What is happening to me? Why am I going back and forth with a thought of mine? Are these even my thoughts?

“I need to save her. Today, tomorrow, what it takes. I can not let this kid die. Not the same way Imelda did. Imelda deserved better. I know she did.”

My gut begins to twist harder than ever, and an eerie feeling drapes itself over my chilling body. Tears start to create a haze over my eyes, blurring my vision. Grief fills my heart with cement as it lays heavy. The lump in my throat won’t push down, as I freeze in place.

“I know for a fact she did nothing wrong. Imelda made the mistake of digging too deep, but she could have put an end to all of this. No, she must put an end to all of this.”

What the hell is happening to me? I don’t remember anyone named Imelda dying. So why can’t I get rid of this cruel, aching feeling? A tear of grief and frustration crawls its way down my face.

“She didn’t deserve to die.”

I can’t control this. More and more tears begin to stream down my face, as I stare at the little girl.

“Imelda can not die.”

The child holds a similar stare, confused and scared. Of course she’s confused. I’m a stranger who stopped dead in her tracks to stare at her and began crying out of nowhere. I need to stop staring, but something about her holds me in a lock.

“I must put an end to this.”

I can’t shake this grief; it takes hold of me by the throat. These thoughts can’t be mine. They’re not mine. Get out of my head.

A quick tug from the zip tie’s cord makes me stumble forward, snapping me back to reality. As my feet scramble to regain balance, I glance up at Malva. The thread is locked in her grasp as she gives me her classic death stare. I've seen it a million times now, but it still gets me sweating and begging for my life. My eyes follow the arm closest to me, but something calls for me to switch my attention to follow across her body and find a dark shadow in the pocket of her lab coat. I catch a glimpse of something small, silver, and barrel-shaped. My eyes follow the metal tube that shines through the bottom of the pocket. Malva lets go of me and clenches the gun tightly. My body shivers with a cold sense of unease. I get myself back onto my feet as quickly as I can.

"Don't try anything funny," she says. I take one last glance at the girl, but she’s no longer looking back. The grief slightly releases its grasp on me, and I’m able to turn away.

We reach the end of the short hall, and Malva pushes open a familiar door. It lets out a high-pitched scream as the metal scrapes against the floor. Each step becomes heavier than the last as we walk deeper into the facility. I’m not used to being able to see where I’m going with her by my side; most of the time the only way I’ve gotten from point A to point B around here is by being knocked unconscious and then waking up somewhere else. But for us to walk this far away without her knocking me out is just blatantly wrong. Something rubs me the wrong way about this.

She opens another door to reveal a hall even smaller than the one before, with tight dark walls enhancing the unbearable heat. I stare down an unusually short corridor and an obscurely large elevator door, patiently waiting for us at the end. Malva drags me into the elevator, and I notice not all of the lights on the floor selection buttons shine. She takes out a giant ring of keys and puts it in the pocket on the other side of her lab coat; then, fishes out one tiny key with a purple nail polish streak to put it into the key slot under all the buttons. The rest of the buttons illuminate.

The elevator is unlike the rest of the lab. It’s brightly lit with green-tinted light bulbs and silver walls, big enough to hold a hospital bed. Obviously, it wasn’t used nearly as much as the rest of the facility, as it isn’t as abused or decrepit as the other rooms. They tried to keep this in good condition and somehow succeeded. No bloodstains or mold is noticeable, no matter how hard I look for it. Despite its large size, the lack of windows makes me feel claustrophobic. But then again, what was I expecting? A window into the dirt? Out of all the rooms I’ve woken up in, I’ve never seen one with any windows to the outside world.

Now that I’m thinking about it, my skin hasn't seen daylight in so long that I nearly forgot what the world looks like without blinking fluorescent lights. Maybe that’s the reason why my skin has lost a good amount of its pigmentation, and the acne has slowly crept onto my back, creating pouches of puss around my scars.

I remember my mom constantly telling me to open up the windows in my room and enjoy the sun. She was always worried about my dark room and asked me to keep it tidy, but I never listened to her.

“Make your bed mija,” she would say “That will help you feel like your day has started!” But I never did. I don’t think I cleaned my room before I left. Right, I told her I’d get it when I came back. She got mad at me for not making my bed, and I said it wasn’t that big of a deal. I wonder if anyone ever made it for me, or if that room is still in the state that I left it in. Did they throw away the Butifarra I left on the desk, or did it mold? I don’t know if my parents have the heart to open that room. Now that I think about it, I wish I had listened to them more often.

The floor selection panel glows with different options, Malva taps the one for the fifth floor, and we begin to rise into the unknown territory.

I take a quick glance into her coat pocket to not catch her attention. Inside is a small revolver as well as a couple of other objects flying around it: pens, a Rubik’s cube, the ring of keys, and a box.

Something dense settles in my throat. During my time here, I’ve slowly picked up some things about Malva in addition to the previous information that abruptly popped into my head, and one thing I learned was that she is often reluctant about killing. I know, as shocking as it is, it's the truth. The only time I’ve seen her kill someone was that one guy the first week I got here, but I can’t remember anyone else. She’s had her close calls, though, so I’m not going to be the one to push her limits.

There’s no doubt about it. Malva’s got the temper to be able to put a bullet into someone’s head. Whenever something doesn’t go her way, I watch her stomp down the halls and even punch a couple of doors until her hand nearly breaks. Some nights I can hear her scream in anger from another room, even if that room is above me. Usually, the only way she would calm down was when Lily would finally talk her down so she could eventually get a grip on herself.

She would gently grab Malva’s hands and begin to say something along the lines of “Ellie, Ellie look at me. It’s going to be ok.” Ever since Lily has gone missing though, she’s become more dysfunctional.

Ironically I have seen her cry, but only once.

Usually in the testing room, Lily would be on the computer and Malva would be moving the needles along my back while simultaneously writing notes. However, shortly after Lily disappeared, she ran a test on me and tried to do everything alone.

After tying me up to the chair with a couple of belts and inserting the needles, an error came up on her computer screen. Malva strolled up to the monitor, resolved it, and continued to poke and stab at me. Once she finished, she gave me an unassured look and began to type on the computer.

Malva’s doubtfulness left me nauseous. If the two of them working together was disastrous, I didn’t want to know what resulted from Malva working alone.

Every thought in my head disappeared as one word rapidly replaced them, “Brace!”

I dug my fingers into the cushion while clenching my jaw, waiting for the pulse. With a deep sigh, Malva clicked “Enter” to start the program.

The electrical shock made my spine recoil as I tried to jump away from the agonizing electrocution. The muscles along my back began to contract and pull, jolting me around like a ragdoll. The excruciating pain knocked the air out of me as I tried to scream, but nothing came out. Then, I heard Malva whisper under her breath, “Damn it,” as she canceled the test.

The shock finally stopped pulsating through my spine, and the room spun around me. My lungs tried to suck in as much air as possible with one deep breath, retaining what I had lost during the tasing. Malva stomped away from the monitor to me and continued to adjust the needles, taking them out and putting them in different spots. As she began to take notes, the computer chimed with errors once again.

“What now?” she groaned. She closed one pop-up window, and two more sprung up at her. Malva’s fingers clicked on each error with more and more aggression. “Stop it,” she warned the computer, slowly smashing the mouse against the thin pad with each click was more aggressive than the last.

The screen blinked black and turned blue, telling Malva, “Your PC ran into a problem and needs to restart.” The monitor turned itself off, and the mocking black screen had her anger plastered all over it. Malva’s eyes glossed over with tears, but she wouldn’t let them fall. Instead, she picked up the mouse, smashing it into the mouse pad. “Damn it,” she whispered, gently walking away from the dark monitor. She glared over at me and began to chuckle under her breath. The tears that had formed fell one by one as her laughter grew louder. Then, in a sudden burst of rage, she dug her fist into the impenetrable wall over and over again, screaming, “Damn it!”

Tears poured down her face as she bawled into the empty room, gasping between her breaths. The keyboard and mouse flew off the table in a single swipe, slamming into the wall next to it. Keys spilled all over the floor, landing on my shaking feet. Her voice trembled and wailed, “Why? Why!?” She clenched her blond strands, pulling them away from her scalp in small clumps.

Malva then turned her attention to me.

“What are you looking at?” she snapped. I broke eye contact with her, but she still grabbed me by my shirt. Sweat profusely soaked my face; for once I was right in the path of her tantrum.

“Do you have any idea why she would…why she would just-?” she released a trembling sigh. I didn’t dare to answer and broke eye contact to not infuriate her further. It wasn’t any use. She grabbed my face, took out a syringe, and sobbed, “No, I don’t get it either. After all we’ve been through, after all we’ve done, she just-” Malva curls her lips as she pulls out a needle and takes the cap off, “I’m going crazy-” she lightly chuckles, and tears continue to escape. “I’m babbling to a person who won’t give me an answer. Of course not! Of course, fucking, not! And here I am, expecting advice from you. The best test subjects we have are a mute, a dumbass, and...it’s a joke. Honestly.” She grabs the collar of my shirt and pulls me in closer, groaning, “That’s enough testing for today.” Malva slowly injected the syringe into my shoulder; I didn’t try to fight back.

She slumped down on the floor and took out the small necklace with a J. As I became loopy over a couple of minutes, I watched Malva slowly weep. Her tears slowly fell to the burning floor. Malva’s anger turned into sorrow as she held the charm close to her chest. Before falling asleep, the last thing I remember was her soft crying while she whispered, “What am I doing?”

After that point, Malva became more deranged than ever. She’s made a drastic change, and not a pleasant one, to say the least. If anyone even tries to take a step out of place, she will shoot. I never know if it’s fatal or not, as I just hear the shot most of the time. Hell, I’m surprised she didn’t kill me back in that hall when I got distracted by the girl. She was close, though. I saw her grip on that gun. If I moved any other way than forward, she probably would have. I know that when Malva’s on edge, she’s bound to put a bullet into someone’s head.

My question, though, is why is she carrying the gun so much more often now? Before, while Lily was still roaming around, I would see that gun every once in a while. It was never a daily threat nor one of my main concerns. Now it feels like if I breathe wrong, she will bash my cell door open and shoot me where I stand.

The elevator doors glide open, and Malva yanks the key out of the panel, shoving it into her pocket. Beyond the elevator is another part of the facility that I haven’t yet seen. It’s practically a hospital, with halls that seem like they can go on forever. The doors are not nearly as enormous as those that hold us captive in the cells, but they're still quite thick. The long windows give previews inside the rooms; however, some are covered with cardboard and others are just smashed.

I’ve never been here, yet somehow, that weird nostalgia similar to the other parts of the facility latches onto here. It’s not nearly as fearful nor as threatening as the cells but somewhat warm. It’s a different, but sorrowful nostalgia. There was once a community here where people used to laugh and play jokes on each other. It’s been long gone for a while now. I suppose you could say it’s a sense of mourning for a connection that’s no longer there.

Malva yanks me by the wrist out of the elevator, and I stumble into the new layer of hell.

I glance into the small offices; some are no bigger than a small bedroom with a desk and old monitors, while others are as big as a doctor's office with full beds and hanging equipment. The doctor’s offices are almost like mini testing rooms, as single needles hang down onto the beds with a little device that looks like a hearing aid connected to the same cable.

Shattered glass covers some portions of the hallway floor. My feet shift around to avoid filling bare skin with the thin shards, but not enough movement to catch Malva’s attention.

A window catches both the attention of Malva and I, as its shattered hole is different than the others. Deep red blood sinks into the crevices between the glass shards, still dripping off the tips. Though there’s cardboard covering portions of the windows, it’s evident that the room doesn’t have anything too interesting in it, just a tiny office with broken computer monitors and green cups of cold coffee stacked on top of each other. They’re not old enough to be moldy but also not new enough to be considered fresh.

Interestingly, the table next to the window is smeared with fresh bloody fingerprints.

Malva stops us in our tracks and runs her long nail across the crevice, picking off some of the dark red residue. She analyzes the blood on her hand, and the gears in her mind begin to turn with suspicion. Something is not up to par for her.

Scrambling footsteps echo in the distance as they try to escape to another part of the hall. Malva snaps her head around, her eyes narrowing like a hawk looking for prey. I twist my head around slowly enough to avoid getting caught in her gaze, glancing around to see if anyone is there. The halls are still empty and eerie as usual. Malva whispers to herself, “No. No.” as she grips the zip tie’s cord.

We turn and enter a room labeled "infirmary." As she pushes the heavy door open, the dark space greets us with a metallic whiff of blood that stains the room. The pungent stench of alcohol mixes with it to create an aroma that can give anyone a migraine. There is a lone hospital bed, the sheets a dry beige with some mysterious maroon spots blended throughout. On the other side of the room is a desk with clippers and an old computer. The monitor on this one is the same as the others; a vicious crack penetrated the center, nowhere near repairable. There’s also a box for safely disposing of needles; the out-of-place memories recall that the cabinets hanging above are where tester needles' replacements would be.

Malva flicks the light switch, and the hanging fluorescent lights barely illuminate the room; half of them blink on the verge of burning out. It somehow made the room look worse as the corners of the moldy floor became apparent. The maroon spots reveal themselves as a wine red, soaking down to the mattress. I can barely tell that the pillow used to be white like the rest of the bed.

Malva drags me into the decrepit room, checks around, and closes the door behind her. Reaching into her other pocket, she takes out another zip tie, loops it around the ones that hold my hands, and attaches me to the bed frame. She then opens up the cabinet and confirms my suspicions. It’s filled with EpiPens, tiny square packages, and the testing room’s long needles wrapped in plastic. Dust covers the entire surface, leaving this place frozen in time. It must have been ages since anyone opened any of these drawers.

Malva takes out one of the packets and wipes the dust off. Inside is a small wipe; the room fills with a strong alcoholic aroma emitting from the wipe. My hand begins to sting and itch as she creeps toward me. I try to pull away from her, but Malva grabs my hand and yanks it into position.

With vicious swipes, she rubs the wipe against the flushed scar. A high-pitched squeak escapes me as the unbearable stabbing sensation in my hand pierces its way into my lungs. Malva lifts the wipe, and I can catch my breath.

As she walks back to the cabinets to get some more, the clippers on the table grab her attention as she ponders her next move.

My stomach plummets with the sight of her contemplation. Malva’s curiosity only means my misery. I can only hope for the best, but that never works out in my favor.

"Come to think of it-" she exclaims as she reaches for the clippers, "- I should take a closer look, now that you're here." The roaring buzz of the small machine comes to life as she approaches me.

My mind blanks; the next thing I know, Malva hangs over me. My stomach once again turns as vomit begins to push its way into my throat. Those odd thoughts that aren’t mine begin to creep up on me from the back of my mind.

“How many times have I gone through these terrors now? Night and day, the same things over and over again. I’ve been put through four, probably unsanitary, surgical procedures. I’ve been dragged multiple times to those damned testing rooms to their equipment injected into my spine, ear, and neck.”

My brain throbs as every tangible thing around me starts to become soft. I beg for the migraine beginning to settle in to stop. These thoughts just need to leave me alone.

“That’s the other thing-” The thought states, “-Those odd tests lead me to have migraines that last for hours, maybe even days at a time. I’ve been staying awake for weeks at a time out of pure fear, hoping I would be able to stay alive for the next day. And for what? I don’t even know what she’s doing to me, and I’ve just been complying with it this entire time.”

My blood begins to boil with rage. My burning hatred for this place, for Malva, built up for too long is on the verge of eruption, and the thoughts are only adding fuel to the flame. I try to ignore it and hold it down, but it’s no use.

“I have had enough of her taking more from me every day. The restless nights and mysterious surgeries that make me question how she twisted my body around will drive me insane. I don’t even recognize myself in the mirror anymore.”

I look at my hands and find them unrecognizable. Scars covering them from Malva’s endless torment and the heat drying them to the point of getting cuts no longer allow me to see them as my own. The horrific tattoo and disgusting scar constantly remind me that I’m Malva’s product.

Maybe this voice is telling the truth.

“I’m so damn sick and tired of being her loyal lab rat, walking next to her chained up like fucking dog! I’m not going to let her take anymore. It’s time to put up a fight. After all these months, we need someone to stand up for once and show her that we are not her toy. If we want to change something, anything, we need to do it right now.”

The adrenaline pumping throughout my body is unbearable. I can’t hold it back.

“It’s time to fight back.”

I impulsively give a swift kick to Malva’s stomach, sending her stumbling backward.

She hits the desk and remains frozen still for a grim five seconds. My breathing stops for a moment; the realization of what I've done hits me like a truck. Have I forgotten who I’m dealing with? Have I gone absolutely insane? What was I thinking? That thought got me all rattled up, and I was stupid enough to listen to it. Malva stares at me with outrage in her eyes but a grin on her mouth. Her hand gets a firm grip on the clippers, brandishing the buzzing machine like a knife.

"You…kicked me?" I hear her giggle dangerously under her breath. Cold sweat drips down my forehead, and my body paralyzes. Every thought that flies by my mind goes completely blank, and even the other thoughts go silent. She rises from the desk and stomps towards me, her teeth grinding against each other. “Goddamn virus.”

Her hand shoots down into the coat pocket, grasping the trigger of the small revolver. Everything shoots awake again to regain enough sense to struggle in the restraints. I’ve never regretted a decision more in my entire life. Stupid! That was so stupid! Wherever those thoughts come from, they need to shut up before getting me killed! I pull and tug at the restraint as hard as I can, but it seems like I’m not going anywhere. Malva couldn’t get a more precise shot of my prominent forehead.

I turn to look at her, expecting to stare down the barrel of her gun; but instead, I see Malva pause for a moment to contemplate, the gun still slightly hanging in her pocket. Her eyes squint at the floor as she considers whether or not to spare me. The sharp eyes shoot up, and Malva locks me into a deadly stare down, my heartbeat pounding in my ear.

“Do I need all three?” she whispers. She slowly lowers the gun back into her pocket with a sigh and drops it, creeping up to me rather calmly. The clicks of her heels in the dead silent room make my heart skip a beat. Her fingers softly pierce themselves into my unkempt hair, the long nails gently scratching along my scalp. Instinctually, my head retracts away from her.

“You really want to do this, Jada?” she asks. The pleasure in her smile sends alarms ringing through my head as our eyes lock in a deadly glare inches away from each other. In an instant, she grips my hair with enough strength to have me gasping. Malva’s gritty hands nearly rip the curls out of my head as she yanks me close.

"I dare you to try again!” She snaps as she raises her hand to bring the clippers down upon me.

The vibrating blades lightly snip no more than a couple of curls on my widow's peak before we hear something in the distance. Glass, papers, and other objects clattering to the floor ring throughout the halls, muffled by the thick walls. Time freezes, and Malva’s attention turns towards the sound as the clippers hold their place at the verge of snipping off the rest of my scalp. The sweat pours down like never before, and I’m in no position to do anything. I look down into her pocket, getting a better look at the small revolver she nearly pulled on me and a closer look at the box; it’s a small packet of extra bullets. The revolver’s chamber has a shot in every single slot, and there must be a couple more in the box.

"Who the hell?" She mutters under her breath, still scanning the room. More objects begin to fall on the other side of the hall, making Malva’s head turn in every direction to get a better sense of where it’s coming from. "No. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. " Malva flings the clippers onto the bed and storms out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

That was a close call, way too damn close. I look at the clippers, questioning what that sound could have been. If it weren’t for that noise, I think those other thoughts would have completely screwed me over. But it didn’t seem like she was willing to kill me. Was she resisting? Why would she hesitate, especially at that moment? She could have killed me very easily and for a good reason, but she chose not to. I’m more scared than grateful if I’m going to be honest. Keeping me alive means she probably has more plans for me, more surgeries, more tests, and a more extended stay.

“I’m not ready to stay in this hell hole, not any longer. I need to get out of here before I lose my mind.”

These thoughts, I swear they’re going to get me killed. They’re not mine. No, it’s as though someone’s talking into a microphone, and their words are disguising themselves as thoughts. Who is this?

“That’s not an issue right now, kid.”

I knew it! Get out of my head! Who are you?!

“Kid, now is your chance. I’ll guide you; you only need to find a way out of the zip ties.”

No, I don’t need to fight anyone or be a tough guy. There’s no point. I don’t think Malva’s going to let me out.

“But that’s the point! What don’t you understand? If Malva and Lily aren’t going to let you out, you need to get off your ass and get out yourself. There’s no point in trying to wait it out. You’ve been waiting it out for months now! So why not try?”

And how do I know I can trust you?

“Because I’ve been guiding you since day one, and I’ve helped you survive this long. Haven’t I?”

Something clicks in my head. All of those memories, the warnings about Malva, this unusual presence following me, the brace warnings in the testing room, it’s all connected. Whoever this is has been helping me the whole time. But why now? And who are you?

“Get out. I’ll explain when we have time.”

I keep staring at the clippers; if that noise was a person, maybe I could get some help. Or perhaps I can find an exit on my own. Finding a way back to that elevator would be my best plan. I wouldn’t know where it is or even where I’m going, but it doesn't matter what I do and don't have planned. Malva is out of the room, and I need to run. If I want to get out, now is my chance.

Maybe I can use the clippers to cut the zip ties, but both of my hands are tied to the frame.

“Grab it with your mouth,” the thoughts command.

I lean down far enough till the end of the clippers is just barely in front of my face. My spine pulls far enough till I can bite down on the end of the device. Unraveling myself, I transfer the clippers into my hands. The machine roars to life, and I twist it around between my fingers to meet the plastic zip ties. Blades clash against strong plastic, slowly shedding me free. In one strong pull the thin plastic snaps, and I’m released from my restraints.

I’m free? I’m free! Oh shit, I’m free. I did not expect to get this far. Out of pure impulse, I run out the door.

“If we keep going this way, hopefully, we can make it back to the elevator. Maybe even get out and get help to others.”

I’m heading towards the noise. I have a better chance of getting out with someone else.

“Are you that naive? It’s your responsibility to get the hell out and find help.”

I can’t, that key is holding us down here. I don’t know how far up I’m able to go without it, and if I can’t get out, I’m screwed. If that noise could maybe lead to someone who has another key, perhaps we could get out.

“But if you could at least get to a separate floor, maybe there’s a stairwell. Besides, who the hell else would have another key? The last time I checked, Malva is the only person we know of who has a key.”

What could that noise have been? Could another captive person have escaped? If so, who? The little girl? No way, she was way too scared to do something that crazy. Who am I to call her crazy? I’m pretty insane for running out here with no plan.

It dawns on me that it could have been Lily. My feet begin to grow heavy as I slow down my pace. I should find Lily; maybe she could be my way out of here. She knows how this place works, and she might be able to get me out. If Malva did something and stabbed her in the back, she might also be trying to leave the facility. But how am I supposed to find her? I've never free-roamed the facility before and only seen a couple of different rooms.

“And if Malva finds us? We’re both heading in the same direction.”

They’re right; what if I get caught? The thought of Malva seeing me makes me nauseous. I stop dead in my tracks. Anxiety rumbles my stomach, the acid causing a thunderous gurgle; I’m giving Malva a legitimate reason to kill me.

I know the first time she hesitated, but it was almost instinctual the way she grabbed that gun; who’s to say she would give me the same mercy twice? She didn’t have a reason to kill me back in the room. Sure, she easily could have; but I was bound up, not a threat to her. The moment I entered these halls, I was fair game.

At the same time, I can’t turn back. I already broke the ties, and if Malva finds me back in that room like this, I don’t think she would be too hesitant to kill me for trying to get out. Going back and waiting for her would be suicide; at this point, I’m at her mercy. If she has any.

If anything, I have a better chance of trying to fight her than hoping for her to let me live. Maybe if I take the key, I can get out. It’s a suicide mission, but what else do I have to lose at this point?

I run around the hollow facility for a bit, following what my gut instincts tell me. Somehow navigating the area isn't as hard as I thought it would be. Whoever gives me these odd memories gives me a broad idea of where I’m going but not wide enough to know exactly where I am. All I know are the instructions: left, right, right, left. Until, I turn a corner to find Malva, with the small revolver in hand, putting a golden chain with a J charm into her pocket.

Someone leans against the wall on the ground, her locs tucked behind her back and the overgrown front splitting around her glasses—blood drips down onto her forehead, diverting into multiple paths along her bagged eyes. Long streams of blood pour out of her nose and messily smear all over her face. The right arm of her rolled-up coat drips with large puddles of blood originating from the cuts on her arm and tiny glass shards still stuck within the crevices.

She and Malva both wear identical long lab coats, the sleeves fit looser around her scrawny arms than Malva's; as well as identical symbols on their shirts. The lady on the floor is a lot scrawnier and tinier than Malva, but they’re about the same age. That's when it clicked.

I can’t believe I didn’t recognize her at first, but I know Lily when I see her.

"Listen to me, Jennifer!" Malva commands. "If you’re not going to help me, then you could at least stay out of my way! I'm not afraid to kill you." Malva nudges the gun closer to Lily’s head.

"Come on, ple-please!" Lily stammers with small gasps. "We're friends, aren’t we, Ellie?" Her gentle smile fades as tears stream down her face. "I don't want to fight you, b-but this needs to stop,"

“You don’t want to fight me? You don’t want to fight me?!” Malva laughs. “You’re such a fucking hypocrite.”

Lily begins to lift herself, grunting and groaning as her lean body quivers. Malva watches her warily, and the gun continues to train on her every movement.

"Please, w-w-we can work this out in a nonviolent manner.”

“Bullshit,” Malva interrupts. “Bull-shit! ‘Oh non-violent this, non-violent that!’ Like that incident with Coroz and I never happened. You think you can become a hero to cover up the shit you don’t want to remember, so stop giving me that bullcrap.”

“Fine! I-I’m sorry, Ellie, but I did that because this facility, all of this, is wrong. The kidnapping, the testing, the-" Lily stops for a moment and grimaces as she takes a deep swallow to choke up the right words. "The murders..."

Malva's eyes widen in shock as her finger gets closer and closer to the trigger.

Lily can’t respond. She scans the floor as she tries to find something to say that won’t get her shot. "P-please, Ellie!” she cries out, her sorrowful eyes begging to find some mercy within Malva.

The Malva she knows has to be different from the one I do; because if that were me in front of the gun, I would have been dead the moment I was in her sight.

“These are innocent people. Just let them go, and everything will be o-ok."

“I need this, Jenny, and you know this.”

“Even if you did make successful chips, it won’t matter. You’ll be arrested. They won’t care how great the product is. Please, stop this. We can’t take any more lives.” She reaches out her hand and struggles to put on a stretched smile. “Please, at least do it for me. You know this deal won’t work.” Lily freezes in anticipation of an answer. Malva pauses for a moment as time stops.

It’s almost idiotic what Lily is attempting to do; she’s trying to find someone she once knew within this maniac. Malva remains emotionless, practically annoyed by her peace offering; Lily’s smile slides off. She must have noticed how foolish this little peace treaty is, how irrational it must seem to the serial killer who stands before her. Whoever she is looking for is long gone; her heart breaks into two. Malva releases one hand from the gun and strikes a hard blow across Lily's face, breaking the silence of the lab with a loud clap. She flies to the floor, her glasses and tears hitting the concrete. A short screech escapes my mouth, but I quickly slap my hands over it.

"Please!" she begs, shaking and backing away from the monster standing before her. Lily struggles to pick up and put on her glasses; her slender hands quiver, trying to adjust them until they slip behind her ear.

Malva slowly takes aim at Lily, her hands trembling like I’ve never seen before. She wraps one hand around the other to stop the shaking, but it only worsens. A tear slowly crawls down her face, lightly putting a small incision in her cold heart. She whimpers, “I’m not falling for you again.”

"Please, Malva. You don’t have to do this,” Lily begs. “Don't kill me! I-I-I-" she coughs up as she pulls herself off the floor.

Lily looks to the side and makes eye contact with me for a brief second. Her eyes widen as startlement blinks across her face; I need to do something before Malva notices I’m here. I need to keep Lily alive without killing myself if I want even a chance to get out of here. Lily looks up at Malva and mutters, "Murderer."

“What did you say?” Malva questions, her teeth not losing contact.

“Y-you heard me, Ellie. You never changed. If anything, you got worse. You killed both of those people a-a-a-and then lied to me.”

Malva pulls her up by the shirt, veins appearing on the side of her head as it gets harder for her to hold back more tears, “What are you talking about?” She digs the gun into Lily’s forehead, and the tears on the edge of her eyes drip down as her face turns red from holding them back, “I’m the liar. I’m the liar?!”

“Y-yes, you a-a-are!” Lily’s breath shivers with every word; she keeps staring at me, expecting me to do something. A passionate look lays under her eyes, a look of vengeance. A personal vendetta targeted towards Malva?

“You listen here! I’m not the only one who did this, ok? Their deaths are your fault, too!” yells Malva. “So don’t pin this on me like you’re some hero!”

“You are psychotic, Ellie. You killed all those people with your disastrous temper! And you’re idiotic enough even to try to perform tests in my absence.” Her breath has finally reached a steady pace, and she keeps straining to look over at me. Lily quickly jerks her head to look at me with a despairing look. “Y-you even killed Imelda!”

A shiver runs down my spine and something clicks in my mind. In the back of my mind, a blurry memory arises. A room, dark and tight, suddenly becomes a beacon of light as the sound of a gunshot reverberates within its thick walls. This is the memory of a voice that hides in my thoughts.

Lily quickly draws her attention back to Malva. “You’re no hero either, and none of this will be worth it in the end. So you know what? Kill me. It shouldn’t seem like that big of an issue for you.” I don’t know what she’s expecting from me, but she’s pushing Malva to her limit.

Malva's face drops as her heart officially breaks into two as well. She loosens her grip on Lily as she finally lets the tears all fall. "Don't you ever-!”

A rush of adrenaline flies through me, and I don't know why, but everything in me screams just to run forward. I don’t have a plan. I don’t know what will happen next, but I must save her. She’s the only ally I could have in this place; if she dies, I’m next on the chopping block.

In an instant, I break into a full-on sprint into the heart of the chaos. From the corner of my eye, a woman appears before me. She’s much older than me, maybe around the age of both Lily and Malva. High and pronounced cheekbones accompany her square jaw, framing her broad but flushed nose. What used to be a clean haircut on her black hair was left untreated, leaving her with a length that was too long to be kept down but too short to organize into a full updo. Instead, it met in the middle at a sloppy half-updo. The professional white button-up shirt’s collar was tight enough to see her broad build. Bright blood splatters from the neck shot their way down to her chest, and her long navy blue jeans had light rips and tears from distress. Somehow it clicks in my head: the woman who proudly stands beside me is Imelda.

Even though she doesn't move an inch closer, something about her gives me a type of energy I haven’t felt in months. The idea of hope fills every part of my body as I charge toward them. A hope that, maybe, this is all going to be worth it in the end.

Malva’s face turns to me, but instead of being met with the rage-filled Malva I’ve always known, I lock eyes with a tearful grieving woman.

Lily stares at me with shock plastered across her face and something else: joy.

My legs spring forward, and I try to tackle Malva.

As soon as my arms reach her waist, a loud explosion erupts next to me. My ears ring, and it’s as though someone hit my head with a hammer. The mushy brain inside my skull pulses and throbs. My legs curl together in pain as the ringing won't stop, but my attention quickly turns away from the ringing. I’m at a loss of breath; my heart stabs at realizing that Malva shot the gun in front of Lily’s head.

Both Malva and I hit the ground and glide on the floor for a good five seconds, the hot concrete creating a burning rash on my bare arms. A warm liquid runs down the side of my left jawline, and I go to touch it. Retracting my fingers, the blood from my ears drips into my palm. I soon turn my attention to Lily and see her sitting on the floor, paralyzed by fear.

Not even an inch, maybe a centimeter away from her head, is a bullet hole in the wall, and the flaming metal had taken a piece off of Lily’s ear. The cavity is a vibrant red from the heat of the shot, bleeding enough to make the entire ear red. She turns to me and calls my name beneath her breath.

"Jada," she mumbles. My left ear can’t capture the sound; it gets turned into a muffled whisper accompanied by a ringing. Lily’s quivering lips whimper, "Run,” as she points behind me with a trembling hand. I jerk around to find Malva not even a foot away from me, her upper torso turned to me, and the gun with my name written all over it. I knew she wouldn’t be as hesitant as before; my legs try to get up and scatter away, but it's too late.

Bang!

My right leg goes limp as I fall to the floor. The numbness of my limp leg diminishes into the burning of hot metal pressing into one spot, and the warm flow of a liquid begins to travel down my leg. A gasp escapes my mouth, I don’t want to know what happened, but I still turn my leg to examine the damage.

Above my ankle, a small, dark red hole pierces into my leg, gushing blood in a straight line down into a puddle. A scream wells up in my throat, and the heat is unbearable.

Did I get shot? No, there’s no way; it stings like hell. The adrenaline wears off as the heat grows hotter and hotter. My hands wrap around the small hole and squeeze it with all my strength, desperately trying to calm the pain. I can't catch my breath, and my mind can’t wrap around which is working harder, my heart or my lungs.

I turn to look for Imelda, but she’s no longer there. Within a second of thinking of her, she reappears in the corner of my left eye, no more than a foot away. The glimmer in her eyes has disappeared as she trembles in terror, staring at the bullet hole. Her shaking hands cover her mouth, trying not to scream from the shock.

I whip my head around to look at her, but every time I try to get a better glimpse, a mirror image of her appears in the other eye; until she eventually disappears entirely.

My eyes gloss over to see Malva stumbling while getting up from the floor, strolling towards me. The sorrow she had before has been wiped clean off her face; something beyond anger smeared her sadness away. Murder is written in her eyes; whatever mercy Malva had left was gone. My pulse rises as my legs attempt to make a getaway but to no avail.

"I suppose I don’t need all three subjects," Malva says as she grinds her teeth. The coldness of her shadow covers my body as her presence over me gives chills down my spine. I continue crawling backward with my arms and one good leg, but she keeps closing the distance with every click of her heel. The bloody trail I leave behind soaks the bottom of her shoe; dripping red footprints follow Malva as she closes the gap.

She hauls her foot to her knee and brings it down on my bloody ankle, causing the blood to gush out twice as fast. A scream high enough to break glass bursts out of my mouth, the muscles in my legs straining to the point that I think they’re about to snap. My hands wrap around the strained leg, and I struggle to pull it out from under Malva’s foot. Her heel peels off of the burning bullet wound, and she gets down on one knee to make eye contact with me; the revolver is still firmly in her grasp.

I can’t look back at her; my eyes are pinned on the gun. Without a moment's notice, her hand goes flying towards me like a missile. It clenches my throat and slams my head on the concrete floor, making my eyes see white for a brief moment.

Tossing and turning all that I can, it’s no use to get out of her grip. I keep my eyes clenched as tight as possible, my two hands wrapping around Malva’s arm with all of my strength, trying to pull it back, but she doesn't move an inch. A hot ring begins to press against the middle of my forehead, pushing my head further down to the floor.

My eyes widen, and Malva's arm stretches into the view. Above my eyes, the revolver’s trigger is in front of me; the gun is pressed against my forehead.

"You made me waste a bullet," she snarls.

I don’t dare to move. Panic overtakes me as every part of me goes numb, and nothing feels real. My mind fills with white noise; thoughts become nothing but the purpose of keeping me alert. The bullet wound becomes a second priority as terror takes superiority over the sweltering pain. What is this? I don't feel fear, and I don't feel sad. I don't feel angry. I feel nothing but yet everything. My mind is still awake, going in a million directions, but I’m frozen in place. I am just a consciousness within a malfunctioning vessel. Although my mind screams at me to do something, my body does not respond.

As the ring burns into the skin, my vision becomes blurry yet more precise. Small details become greater. The shine of the gun, the peach fuzz on Malva’s cheek, every stitch on her coat, every strand of hair on her head; I can see it all. Putting all the information together makes the image a blur, too much to process. I don’t want to die. Please, I don’t want to die, but I can’t do anything. If I struggle, she’ll shoot. I’m dead. Have I already made it to hell?

Malva states, "Chip one-zero-nine failed once again.”

I close my eyes.

"Wait!"

I snap out of my thoughts, and my mind and body connect again. Who? What? Malva and I both jerk our necks back to see Lily standing up, her hand pressing against her ear as the blood gushes through her fingers, heaving as she suppresses the pain.

"Wait," Lily is at a loss for words. "Do not shoot."

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t," asks Malva.

"Please, y-you shouldn’t kill her, she...w-we can fix this, just- "

“We?” interrupts Malva, “Oh, now it’s ‘we.’” She lightly snickers, “Why all of a sudden do you think we’re some sort of team? It wasn’t ‘we’ when I operated on these people. Or when I killed. It’s only ‘we’ when you feel guilty for the stuff we actually did.”

The room falls silent. The searing gun begins to press tighter, and Lily bursts out, “If fighting you makes you kill more people, then I’ll stop.”

Malva’s face twists into confusion, perplexed by Lily’s offer.

"I won't fight you, and I won't be a distraction. Lock me up in my room or a cell. I-I-I don’t care. Just please, don't kill her. We worked too hard for this."

Malva looks down at me and begins to bite the inside of her cheek, contemplating whether or not to spare me. She pulls the gun off my forehead and taps it against my cheek, my head turning at the demand of the light pressure. Malva’s scanning me for something, her eyes moving back and forth like a camera.

I stare back at those haunting brown eyes, releasing my hands from her arm and putting them next to my head. I don’t want to make sudden movements to alarm her, but she just needs a reason to spare me. My breath becomes unsteady as she pushes my head in the other direction, not losing eye contact with me. The gun slams back onto my forehead with enough force as though she’s trying to slice through it with a knife. Malva then looks up at Lily.

"Swear on Annie," Malva mumbles with a dumb expression. She looks up and holds Lily in a deep stare.

"What?" Lily questions.

"I said swear on Annie's life, or I shoot."

Lily looks down at me; her face turns stiff. Malva jolts the gun, making both Lily and I jump; Lily yells, “Wait, wait!”

“Swear on Annie’s life right now-“ She presses the gun deeper, pulling her finger deeper into the trigger “-or I’ll put a bullet through her chip!” Malva yells.

Lily takes a hard swallow and yells, "I swear on Annie's life! Please! Let her go, please!"

The gun peels off my forehead, leaving the barrel ring pressed into my disgustingly sweaty forehead; she releases my throat, leaving me gasping for air. Malva slips the revolver into her lab coat.

"Ok," she sighs, "I won't destroy her chip."

In an instant, Malva pulls out a syringe from the other lab pocket and stabs it into my arm.

"Stop!" yells Lily. "We had an agreement!"

"How else am I supposed to bring her down to the detention hall?"

Lily gets up, but Malva aims the gun and commands, “Sit down!” Lily helplessly sits down, covering her mouth as she watches me struggle to keep consciousness. I reach for her, wishing that she could help me in some way. It’s no use, and she won’t help me. Not in the position she’s in right now.

My hands falls to the floor while the rest of my body goes limp. My eyelids start to sink like lead, and everything begins to go dark. Before I pass out, Malva leans close to my face and whispers, "We will have a long conversation when you wake up."

Everything fades into black as I fall asleep.